Perennial Fixation
by porcelaine-peony
Summary: Their meeting was inevitable; their relationship beautiful, yet tragic.  A series of England/China ficlets based on historical events.
1. Chance

Title: Chance

Characters: England, China; mentions of France and Portugal.

Rating: PG

Summary: 1596 – England's first attempt at establishing relations with China ends in failure. Or does it?

Notes: Thanks for the help with the Chinese and Portuguese! You lovelies know who you are!

I tried to keep the Portuguese phrases short, since people do that when learning a new language (the idea China learning Portuguese makes me giggle). As for England, I don't think he cared to perfect his Portuguese. He's a proud, stubborn Briton (but he totally had to know SOME Portuguese, right?) Footnotes at the end. Enjoy!

x

The atmosphere reeked of murky water and vast forest. Reeked—that was the only word England could think of as he trudged along the grimy waters, stepping in mud here, almost tripping over a rather large root there. He sadly watched as his once shiny black boots sunk into the soft earth yet again. England sighed.

Why was he lost in China again? Oh right, _France_. Actually, it wasn't France's fault, but England couldn't muster up enough energy to mentally curse anyone _but_ France.

In reality, it had begun with a happy Portugal—an all _too_ happy Portugal, which hadn't bothered England at all. Portugal had mentioned something about an oriental beauty with long hair the colour of ebony and eyes that sparkled under the light of the sun. France had laughed at the thought, yet he had decided to check out this _beauté_ for himself. At once, France had wandered off to China. France swore it was for religious purposes, _of course_, but that all too familiar wink told England otherwise. And even though England had heard rumours that France had failed miserably in China, once he returned, the smile France wore on his face had rivalled that of Portugal's.

England had shaken his head with disgust. Didn't France have better things to do than to harass other empires? Still, the thought of heading east to set up trade, which Portugal swore was remarkable beyond belief, got England thinking. It also got Queen Elizabeth thinking, and soon enough, England boarded a ship and set sail to China. Three ships with the best crew England had to offer had begun their journey towards the exotic Orient.

England sighed as he threw himself on the ground, leaning his back against a tree. That was fi—no. That was six months ago. The crew had barely made it to China alive, and all who was left now was England. He closed his eyes and grimaced, the letter in his pocket, the letter Queen Elizabeth had so carefully written, was now a blurry, wet mess.

The entire quest had been a waste, and now England was going to starve. Or be eaten by mosquitoes. Whichever fate came first. Where was the capital anyway? Or Portugal's would-be colony? There was no sign of a village anywhere, and with night upon him, England could only smile and curse his luck.

x

The incessant buzzing, that's what would drive England absolutely insane. He swatted his hand at the offending mosquitoes, mumbling something about peace and quiet, but the buzzing resumed. "Blasted blood suckers," he groaned. The loud cheering wasn't helping at all, and neither were the gongs and—

_Drums_?

England's eyes flew open and he quickly stood up. Those sounds … they were _music_ and _people_. Besides the disgusting flock of insects inhabiting the forest, there were actually _people_ around. He quietly followed the noise, making sure to keep hidden behind the trees _just in case_. He wondered if there was some sort of celebration going on. Maybe a signal for war? Or perhaps …

Green eyes widened. England's jaw dropped, and for a moment he forgot all sense of decorum.

The Emperor, or someone of equal importance, England assumed, was arriving to his palace. The sound of drums, of music, of people cheering, and of armies marching drowned England's thoughts. Bright colours, cheerful faces, and melody painted a scene of festivity and harmony.

England would have felt homesick, but the sights were enough to make him smile. He couldn't see too much hiding behind the trees, but his position granted him a perfect spot to observe the people. His eyes roamed the scenery, taking in every inch of the spectacle. And what a spectacle it was! England had never seen anything so majestic in his entire life.

That is, until his green eyes met striking golden ones.

For a brief second, time stood still. England closed his mouth and swallowed, not sure what to make of the maiden a few steps in front of him. Alarm was far from England's mind, even though the woman had every right to scream, to give away his position. But instead of running away or hiding, England's eyes slowly examined the Oriental beauty. She was dressed in long, bright robes and wore her hair in what appeared to be a prestigious fashion. A hat of some sort rested on top of her head, and her back was straight, proud even.

The drums continued on in the background, and England found it nearly impossible to look away from the woman. He smiled like one of those _love struck fools _Shakespeare enjoyed writing about and took a step forward, finally making a move to exit the forest.

Golden eyes widened. The girl took a step back, for a split second glancing off to the side, only to have her eyes pin England's gaze once more.

"Xiǎoxīn_." Be careful._

The words, barely a whisper, fell on deaf, _ignorant_ ears. England's mouth opened, but words failed to form. It was then he realized something, some_one_ had attacked him from behind. He coughed, the pain quickly shooting from the left side of his chest all throughout his body. But he never tore his gaze away from the woman. Alarm coloured her beautiful features.

He faintly heard his own voice, "Were you the maiden Portugal spoke about, I wonder."

The world turned black.

x

_Idiot_. That's what England was. He was a bumbling idiot.

Slowly, England opened his eyes only to close them again. Sunlight poured into the room; it was far too bright to keep his eyes open. He sighed and winced at the pain in his chest. England didn't have to see the wound or the weapon to know that some sort of blade was lunged at him. He knew better than to let his guard down. What would Elizabeth think?

An exhasperated sigh escaped his lips. He attempted to open his eyes again.

And there they were. Those same golden eyes, wide and curious and _concerned_, were staring down into his. England swallowed, blinking in disbelief. "It's you," he mumbled when the image didn't disappear, and he groaned a little as he sat up.

The maiden took a step back, straightening her posture before frowning a little.

England stared at her; he eyed the exotic, bright clothing, the elaborate hair, the golden, peculiar gaze staring back at him. This woman had to be important. Not just any woman would have guards accompany her. No; this woman had to be a princess, or perhaps the que—

"Você está bem?"

England blinked. Was that ... _Portuguese_?

Slowly, as if a child were attempting to speak his very first words, England opened his mouth. "Sim." _Yes, I am okay. But who _are_ you?_

The woman blinked and finally a small smile graced her lips. England looked off to the side.

"Você não é português?"

Of course I'm not Portuguese, England wanted to blurt out, but this woman wouldn't understand him. He frowned a little, searching for the right words, "Não. Eu sou Inglaterra." _No, I am England._ His eyes once more rested upon the woman's features.

She raised a brow, confused. Of course she didn't know what, where, or even _who_ England was. He tore his gaze away yet again, this time searching for ...

"Perfect," he breathed, wincing as he threw himself out of bed and towards his clothes, which rested comfortably atop of a small table.

"Aiya," he heard the maiden exclaim, moving closer to him to observe what he was doing.

England smiled and held up a map, a faded map, for the woman to see. He felt almost like a child, excitingly pointing to a figure on the map, "Inglaterra. England." He then gestured to himself and simply explained, "I am England."

The maiden blinked, her sparkling eyes matching her bright smile. "Yīnggélán," she repeated, pointing at his home on the map. She looked back up at him and their eyes met for a brief second. A second much _too_ long.

"Eu sou," and her eyes were on the map again, her delicate finger now pointing at "Zhōngguó." She smiled, golden eyes melting into green ones, "China. I am China."

England smiled, resisting an urge to brush his fingers through the dark locks of hair. "Que formosura," he murmured, his cheeks colouring a dark shade of red a moment later. _What a beauty? Are you mad? You've been at one too many of Shakespeare's plays!_ "Desculpe," he mumbled, apologizing for his sudden declaration.

But England didn't have to worry about embarrassing China. A faint blush was quickly covered by a genuine, warm smile. "Huānyíng," murmured the fellow nation. "Bem-vindo à China." _Welcome to China. _

China laughed, golden eyes seemingly more radiant than before. It was then that England knew he had found the gem Portugal had spoken about.

x

*The Portuguese, in specific Jorge Álvares and his crew, arrived in southern China (Guangzhou) in 1513. In 1516, the Portuguese reached Canton. In 1535, Portuguese traders obtained the rights to carry out trading activities, but they could not stay on land. By 1557, the Portuguese established a permanent settlement in Macau, paying an annual rent of 500 taels of silver. It wasn't all peace and love, but to be allowed to stay on shore deserves an applause.

*The French, specifically the Jesuits, first attempted to reach China in 1552. While the Jesuits were a French group, Spaniards, Italians, and Portuguese were also part of the group. Their first mission failed, but in 1582, the Jesuits returned to once again initiate work in China. I'll let you look up what they did.

*Queen Elizabeth I of England wanted to expand England's trade east, so in 1596 she granted three ships permission to travel to China. Benjamin Wood was the commander. She sent along a note to the Emperor, written in Latin, which basically requested trading rights between the nations. It also granted Chinese permission to visit and good status in England. She expected her people to be treated with respect in China as well. Sadly, no one knows what happened to the ships. It's almost certain that they never made it to China. *took some artistic freedom there, oops*


	2. Formalities

Title: Formalities

Characters: England, China.

Rating: PG

Summary: August 1637 – England's attempt at establishing relations with China: Take two! He is still unsuccessful (was he _ever_ successful though?), but that won't stop England!

Notes: I love Portuguese history. Don't worry, England, you will get your chance at the awesome bastard role soon enough. Also, less footnotes next time, I promise.

x

England sighed, intolerantly tapping his foot on the floor. How long would the Portuguese officials in Macao keep him waiting? He was growing impatient, and he refused to take _no_ for an answer. After sighing again (that time a little louder than before, a futile attempt to voice his discontent), England began to tap his finger on the table.

The Portuguese official beside him warily eyed England, "Please be patient, sir. Wang Yao, an official from the Emperor, will be here shortly. He will answer all of your questions."

How many times had England heard that phrase in the past month? _Be patient_. What a load of manure. He idly watched the Portuguese man, wanting nothing more than to open his mouth and ask whether they had brainwashed this so-called Wang Yao as well. There was no logical reason as to why the Chinese did not want to trade with the English, besides being brainwashed by the Portuguese. However, England refrained from opening his mouth. He had to keep up _some_ sense of decorum.

After all, there was no room for mistake.

England ceased the tapping on the table and crossed his arms. It had been far too long since he had last travelled to China. Years—no, decades had passed, but the country still possessed an invisible charm that seemed to lure England to it.

He could still picture the maiden in his head: the curious eyes, the hidden smiles, the elegant colours adorning her body. Ah, how wonderful it had been to converse with her, despite the fumbling over Portuguese words on both their ends. As soon as England had arrived home (in the end, England had had to ask Portuguese traders to let him on board one of their vessels, else he'd be stuck in China for God knows how long), he had ecstatically waltzed up to Queen Elizabeth and related his experience to his beloved queen with almost childlike glee.

But not long after that fiasco, Elizabeth had passed away. England was used to it, of course. A nation could never grow too attached to monarchs, but … she had been special. Soon after, though, England established a strong hold in India, sailed to the New Land and met America. Thoughts about China, the country _and_ the nation, had slowly disappeared into the background.

The sound of the door opening broke England's trance. He looked towards the door, but could see only several figures standing in the doorway. After sighing yet again, England's eyes moved from figure to figure. He heard faint murmurs, Portuguese words and phrases that were spoken too quickly and too quietly for him to distinguish.

A moment later, one of the figures began to make their way towards England.

"Well, it's about time," England began at once, barely giving the Chinese time to reach the table. "Have you any idea the manner in which these bumbling Portuguese have been treating my men? Their lies have all but—"

England blinked. _It can't be._

China stood in front of the table, blinking at England with familiar gold eyes, a surprised look painted on his face. But a second later, the small frown he wore turned into a smile, and a laugh, which China attempted to hide behind the long sleeve of his gown, erupted from him.

"You haven't changed at all, England."

England's chest felt _light_; no, _England_ felt light. It was almost as if he could float on water. He suddenly stood up, hat in hand, and bowed. "China, I apologise. I was expecting someone else."

China eyed England, silently studied him before shaking his head and taking a seat, "Aiya, do not act so formal."

"As you wish," England answered, sitting down as well, trying to ignore his impudent outburst. He carefully watched China, who glanced at the Portuguese official and murmured something in Chinese. The man nodded, eyed England one last time, and left the room.

Gold eyes turned to stare at green ones.

_It _is_ China … but_—but something was different. The hair, the clothes, the smile, the eyes: they were all the same, but—

Wasn't China a _woman_?

"What brings you to China, England?"

England closed his eyes and shook his head, "Would you believe me if I say I came to find myself a beautiful maiden to take back home?" He opened his eyes, a small smile on his face. _Mistake_. He had made a mistake before he had even set out on this new journey. China—Wang Yao—was _not_ a woman.

Still, the blush on China's cheeks was rewarding. "Aa, are you saying you want to court me?"

"Perhaps." England finally placed his hat back on his head and leaned back against the chair, "Who taught you English?"

"The Jesuits," China said, smiling.

It would have been the last thing England wanted to hear, except …

"They are interesting people. Some speak Italian, others French or Spanish. I was surprised when I met one that knew _your_ language."

Except … England could feel the warmth on his cheeks. "You speak it quite beautifully."

Their eyes met for a brief second, but China tore their gazes apart, eyeing the wall behind England instead. "England, why are you here?"

"King Charles, my king, would like to establish trade with your country." England cleared his throat and leaned forward, smiling confidently. "It would be quite rewarding for both of us, don't you think?"

Silence flooded the atmosphere. China finally shook his head. _No_. "I am sorry, but the emperor does not want any more foreigners—"

"I see. Portugal's men have already _persuaded_ your people."

"My emperor has not been _persuaded_, England." A heavy sigh. "Please leave before you anger us."

England felt a stab in his stomach. China was angry? He had not meant to cause the other nation any trouble. The Portuguese, they were the ones to blame. "Isn't there something you can do to change his mind? Certainly the emperor—"

Again, China shook his head. Resolute. "There is nothing I can do."

He didn't want to admit defeat, but England _felt_ the hopelessness. He looked directly into China's eyes, narrowing his own eyes in … in resentment, desperation, frustration. China wouldn't change his mind. England could see that.

He sat back in his chair, crossed his arms, and glared at the Portuguese man who had returned and now stood beside China. Green eyes blankly studied the tray the official held in his hands, a million thoughts running through his mind.

China sighed softly, waiting for the Portuguese to set the teapot and the cups on the table. Once the man was gone, China smiled at England. He knew England was upset, but that was not what he wanted to gain from this meeting. "Would you like some _cha_?"

_Cha_? England raised a brow, waiting for China to continue.

"It's a drink. Portugal and his people like it very—" China's words faded. He poured some tea into a cup and looked up, only to meet that shade of emerald green—_fiery_, _determined_—all over again. "It is my favourite."

A small smile appeared on England's face; he reached forward and took the cup, brining it up to his lips. The scent reminded him of flowers, and he automatically looked at China. It reminded him of _China_.

The second the liquid touch his tongue, England was hooked. The taste was light and floral, not overpowering or bitter like coffee. He vaguely wondered if China's lips tasted like cha.

"It is called Jasmine. Do you like it?"

England placed the cup on the table, took his hat off, and set it beside the cup. "Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot." China raised a brow, but England wouldn't let him interrupt. "I'm England, Arthur Kirkland." He reached a hand out, his smile a little wider now.

China blinked. England puzzled him, but the more he stared into those eyes, the more China realized the colour was addicting. "I am China. Wang Yao." He reached forward, taking England's hand in his own. _Warmth_. England's grip was secure, firm, and terribly _warm_.

"But this does not change the emperor's mind."

"I'm not trying to change his mind." England's eyes glimmered, even in the dimly lit room, "Rather, I want to invite you to England."

"Aiya, stop playing games, Arthur."

A shiver ran through England's body. "I am not playing games." England released China's hand, picked up the cup, and took another sip. "My king would surely love to meet you."

"I cannot leave whenever I please." China pulled his hand back, occupying it by serving himself some tea.

"I'm not asking you to come now. The offer will stand as long as it must." England watched China bring the cup up to his lips and decided that China _must_ taste like cha, like _jasmine_. "You are always welcome in my country, Yao."

China's cheeks burned. He couldn't help but laugh a little. Flattery, confusion, interest: they all shone in his gold eyes. Europeans were strange. "Do you like it," he inquired again, eyeing England's teacup.

England finished the tea and set down the cup. "No," he said softly, green and gold meeting, melting into each other. "I love it."

x

* On June 1637, Captain John Weddell and his expedition from England arrived at the mouth of the Pearl River and anchored some distance away from Macao. Weddell could proceed no further until he received permission from the general of the city. At first, the Portuguese were friendly and treated the English well, but when it became apparent that the English wanted to trade with the Chinese, the Portuguese set-out to prevent the English from having any sort of trading grounds in China. On July 27, the general of Macao sent word that the Chinese would not allow any other nation to traffic with them.

A few days later, Chinese junks began to gradually increase in the area. On August 12, on Weddell's ordered, a barge moved closer to Canton. The Chinese fired on the English; the English fired back and managed to capture several Chinese junks. The English also managed to land at Canton. They sent a letter to Canton officials stating that they wanted only to trade with the Chinese and to be friendly with China. On August 21st, a mandarin arrived to speak with the English. The mandarin, apparently, promised the English that they would be able to trade with the Chinese. Some time later, however, the Chinese flatly refused to trade with the English. Weddell was forced to leave China.

* England and Portugal got along fairly well throughout history. However, Portugal (and Holland) had a lot of control in Asia, and trading in Asia was Portugal's specialty. Even when England and Portugal were allies back home, their relationship in Asia was super turbulent. (Holland and Portugal would, respectively, run England out of Japan and China. Heck, Portugal also ran Holland and Spain out of China.)

* Dates on this vary, but tea was introduced to England by the Dutch. The year was about 1610. However, it wasn't until 1662 that tea started becoming popular in England. Catherine of Braganza of Portugal married Charles II of England, and she brought to the English court her adoration for tea. She replaced wine, ale, and spirits with tea as the court drink. Tea, originally called "cha," later had its name changed to "tay" or "tee."

Had it not been for Catherine, tea would not have been so popular among women. It was originally served for just men, but because of her love for tea, women also consumed the drink. Tea was also popular among every class: upper class, working class, middle class, and lower class.

Thus began England's love affair with tea.


	3. Opportunity

Title: Opportunity

Characters: England, China.

Rating: PG

Summary: 1685 – China visits England and gets a small taste of the nation.

Notes: I'm a sap. I can't help it, sorry guys. Writing the Opium Wars is going to kill my sappy heart. Also, how the heck did this get so long … Unedited; please excuse any errors.

x

"Can I move now," China abruptly questioned, tilting his head to the side, a small pout appearing on his face.

England looked at China, eyes a little wide, blinking in surprise. Every time China spoke, England would hear his own heartbeat. It was probably from being startled. The room was quiet and still. Suddenly hearing China's voice obviously made England's heart beat louder than usual. He wondered if anyone else could hear it. "He's almost done."

"You said that an hour ago," China reminded England, a small smile replacing the pout.

"Did I?" England eyed the painter, the painting, and then China. He crossed his arms and sauntered to where China stood. "He's adding the finishing touches now."

China raised an eyebrow at England, not completely sold on the claim, but all China could do was stand in place and wait for the painter to finish his portrait. China had agree to this in the first place, hadn't he? "How does it look?"

England glanced back at the painter and smiled. He leaned a little closer to China, whispering into his ear. "Between you and me, it's all right."

"Just _all right_?" China whispered back, sneaking a peak at the painter.

"Beauty like yours isn't so easily transferred to canvas," England murmured. And it was true, as far as England was concerned. China's beauty was impossible to comprehend. England knew it would be difficult for any artist, even the best in his nation, to perfectly capture China's splendor.

It had been several hours since the painter had begun the portrait, and China still stood proudly. He was regal, delicate, proper, and _intolerably_ beautiful. England eyed the clothes China wore. They were different from the ones he had seen China wearing before, but they were similar at the same time. The colours were majestic and bright, almost as if China were in a competition with the sun. His eyes glimmered like precious stones, knowledge and curiosity shining in their depths. But what England found hard to tear his gaze away from was China's hair.

England had seen men with long hair before, that wasn't out of the ordinary, but he had never seen hair like China's. The light bounced off the long, dark strands. China always wore it tied back, in one fashion or another, but he never wore it loose. _What a shame._ England would give anything to run his fingers through the long locks.

"It's finished." The painter's words brought England back to reality. He smiled at China and walked over to the painting, eyeing it slowly.

"Marvelous, lad. You really are the best."

China watched as England led the painter to the door. When both men were out of the room, China quietly walked to the portrait. He smiled, crossing his arms as he stared at himself on canvas. A door closed. Footsteps. "You told me it was just _all right_." He turned around and smiled at England. "It looks perfect."

England also crossed his arms and mirrored China's smile. He slowly observed the painting: the soft facial features, the gentle way China's hair flowed over his shoulder and down his body, the brilliant and exotic clothes, the eyes … He looked at China, green eyes pinning a gold gaze. _Life. _China's eyes were aliveand intenseand _exquisite._

China looked back at the painting. "Are you going to hang it?"

"Yes. In my office at Oxford."

"Oxford?"

England laughed softly, motioning for China to follow him into the parlour. "It's a university. I don't suppose you want to visit?"

"Aa? Didn't you promise to take me anywhere?" China sat down on a sofa, eyes moving across the room, observing the furniture, the books, the curtains.

"Anywhere and everywhere." England gently lowered himself down beside China.

China had acknowledged his curiosity about England years before he had arrived to the country, but he had refused to accept his particular interest in _Arthur. _Truth was, China wanted to see _everything_, as long as Arthur acted as his personal tour guide.

Their legs brushed. England's voice—calm, soothing, unbearably _seductive_—reached China's ears, "Just say the words."

China felt the hair on the back of his neck stand. "Let's go."

x

_It was impossible. Highly improbable. A flat out lie. No. Just … it was just … _unbelievable_. Like a dream. It had to be a dream. China was _not_ on board a ship that had just pulled up to the dock in London. No. It was a lie for which France was to blame. The man would lose a limb or something equally precious next time England saw him. England swore on his monarchy._

_Yet, that had not stopped England from racing to the dock, clothes in disarray, hair messier than usual. "Pardon me," he yelled out, after half-colliding with an elderly man. The man shouted a curse, but England was too lost in his own thoughts to notice. _

_The crowd had been huge. People had flocked from the city and gathered around the dock, waiting, watching, observing. They knew something was up. His people could feel it. _He _could feel it. _

_And then their eyes had met. Elegance wrapped in silk approached the edge of the ship and then those eyes had found England's. Hundreds of people all gathered in one spot, but somehow _their_ gazes had locked. It was then that England realized it was not a dream, though he had, many times before, envisioned the day China would arrive to his home. _

_England had smiled. It was wide and carefree, a smile he rarely allowed himself to display, but there it was. And China had smiled back, waving at him briefly before descending from the ship. _

_Reality had never felt more breathtaking._

x

"That's the library." England's voice rang with over-excitement, though he kept it well-hidden. His deportment was flawless, but China could still hear the enthusiasm buzzing as England gave him a tour of the university. "And this is my office. I made sure it was close to the library. I've always been fond of literature," England explained as he opened the door, letting an amused China walk into the office first.

The room was spacious, decorated by simple, yet expensive furniture. A desk, a chair, a small sofa, bookcases: everything polished and refined.

"What exactly do you do here?"

"I lecture once in a while."

China nodded, fingers skimming over papers that littered England's desk. It was messier than he expected, but it made him smile. Fables, poems, documents: China could only guess what the mess contained.

His eyes abruptly stopped on a particular sheet. _Music. _"Arthur, do you play an instrument?" He picked up the paper and glanced over it, having seen something similar in France.

"I do, although …" England was suddenly standing beside China, green eyes focused on the paper, his body lightly touching China's. China fought the urge to lean closer to the warmth. "That happens to be a dance. It's quite popular in Austria."

No more than a second of silence passed. "Teach me." China set the paper on the desk and smiled, joyful and carefree.

England would have to be a fool to decline the offer. Lucky for China, England was no fool. "As you wish."

x

_King James laughed and joyously addressed his court, introducing China to his people. It was safe to say that China was more than happy when the attention was finally diverted _away_ from him. He did not mind the stares and the questions, but his own attention was directed at locating a certain blond nation._

_China found himself staring into the crowd, searching for those familiar emerald eyes. Nobility and royalty made up the court, and while he wasn't being bothered for the time being, curious eyes were still on him. Yet, he had not seen England anywh—_

"_He's not always this excited, I promise." England whispered into China's ear. The sound of that voice made China's skin tingle. He turned around and paused, eyeing the man in front of him. Two prior meetings and England had, on both occasions, worn simple breeches, black boots, and a plain red waistcoat. Nothing fancy._

_His clothes now, however, were much more refined. A long, deep blue waistcoat embroidered with gold lining, tight-fitted breeches, black leather boots – China could not help but blush. England looked more like royalty than the king himself._

"_He is not?" China laughed a little. "I think he thinks I am a woman."_

_England almost choked on air, but he managed to clear his throat. "Does he now?"_

_China could only laugh. His eyes peered out into the crowd, watching, observing. Men and women, old and young, conversed and laughed and danced. Different, but similar. England and China were worlds apart, but their people weren't so unlike. _

"_How long are you staying?" _

"_Not long. I have to get back to my people, Arthur." China turned around, the light catching China's eyes. _

_England offered him a smile and quickly distracted himself by looking at his king. "Will you board the next ship to China?"_

_The silence was disheartening. "It arrives in a week."_

"_We should get going then." England offered his hand to China, waiting for the other nation to take it. "There's something I want you to try."_

_China blinked and stared at England's hand. "Aiya, we should not desert your king." But even though those words left China's mouth, he found that he couldn't decline England's offer. Skin touched. Eyes met. Smiles played on both their lips. China would go anywhere, so long as England held his hand._

x

The light was dim. No music played in the background. Neither wore anything too fancy or elaborate. It was as casual as any dance could possibly get, but tremors still ran through both their bodies.

England gently placed his hand on China's waist; China's hand rested on England's shoulder. Their other hands were clasped together, fingers firmly secured around fingers. There was a faint blush painted on China's cheeks, but it was barely visible. Besides, England's eyes were focused on China's eyes. China did not have to worry about blushing. It was the proximity between them that he had to worry about. He swore he could feel England's breath_—warm _and_ alluring—_ on his lips.

"Follow my lead," England whispered. Shivers ran down China's spine. He nodded and received a_—caring, adoring—_smile.

The dance was slow, graceful. England effortlessly guided China across the room. Bodies dipped and rose with each step, flowing like a stream across the floor. Poised, heads held high, green and gold eyes never breaking the intense gaze. They spun and twirled to a silent melody, heat coiling, spiraling between them.

Even when the spinning ceased, China's head continued to whirl. He barely registered England's face leaning in closer. Eyes involuntarily closed. Lips brushed, soft and gentle. A hesitant kiss. China's cheeks were warm, but not nearly as warm as England's tongue. Fingers disentangled. China felt them in his hair a second later, tenderly combing through the strands. For a minute, the world around them was forgotten.

But they were nations. A relationship would only get in the way and cause them grief.

China pushed himself away, hiding his face_—_rose-coloured and flushed_—_behind his sleeve.

England didn't have to hear a single word to know what was running through China's mind. "I apologize, I didn't mean—"

China dismissed the comment with a soft laugh and a wave of his hand. His eyes searched for something to stare at, shelves or books, something that _wasn't_ England. "May you read something to me?"

A smiled graced England's face. "All right, but you'll be in charge of picking the book." He turned, looking at the office doors, refusing to glance in China's direction. "I'll wait for you in my office."

x

_China blew into the cup and then took a sip, flashing a bright smile at England. "Delicious."_

_England sat across from him, unable to wipe the grin from his face. "I'm glad you think so." He brought the cup up to his lips, the taste of tea flooding his senses. "Coffee houses are starting to sell cha, but nothing as delicious as the one you offered me in China."_

"_Remind me to brew you some next time you visit."_

_The comment only helped reinforce the silly smile England wore. "Now, how am I supposed to give you a tour of my country in one week?"_

"_Aiya, do not be foolish. We both have our duties, Arthur."_

"_So you came all this way just to see me?" _

_China's skin glowed scarlet. "Are you still trying to court me? It is not going to work." _

"_Mm." England finished his tea, setting the cup down on the table. "Not quite, but I _would_ like to show you around. Anywhere and everywhere, just say the words and I'll take you."_

_Another sip and China placed the cup on the table, eyeing England. The man was almost as big of a flirt as France, but the refinement was charming … enchanting, even. He found himself getting lost in pools of green. "Are you sure you are not trying to court me?"_

_England laughed. "China, how would you like to have your portrait painted by the best artist my kingdom has to offer?"_

"_Aiya, I thought you said you were _not_ courting me."_

"_I'm not, but…" The light sparkled in England's eyes. "I'd like to stare at that pretty face of yours a little longer."_

x

China placed a book in England's hand.

England didn't have to look down to see who the author was. He recognized the feel of the cover, old and worn and familiar. "Ah, Shakespeare." England moved towards his desk, leaning against it, rather than sitting down on the chair. He placed the book on the desk, mentally smiling to himself.

"Is he a great author?" China titled his head to the side, casually observing the other nation, trying to forget the tingling sensation against his lips.

England didn't answer him. Shakespeare, Milton, Spenser: they were _all_ brilliant. He picked up the book and flipped it open, eyes skimming the pages. "Was," he corrected. Shakespeare's brilliance was, sadly, cut short. But that was the beauty of art.

He patted the spot beside him, waiting for China to approach. "You decide for yourself," he said, glancing at China before reading out loud:

_Those lips that Love's own hand did make,_

_Breathed forth the sound that said 'I hate',_

_To me that languish'd for her sake:_

_But when she saw my woeful state,_

_Straight in her heart did mercy come,_

_Chiding that tongue that ever sweet_

_Was us'd in giving gentle doom;_

_And taught it thus anew to greet;_

_'I hate' she alter'd with an end,_

_That followed it as gentle day,_

_Doth follow night, who like a fiend_

_From heaven to hell is flown away._

_'I hate', from hate away she threw,_

_And sav'd my life, saying 'not you'._

Silence. Their eyes met. A faint gloss of pink stained China's cheeks.

"So, what do you think?"

A smile adorned China's lips. He looked into green eyes and remembered the dance, their fingers touching, their bodies moving … the kiss. Gold eyes glistened. _They were nations_, he told himself, no matter how enchanting the sound of England's voice was.

"Read me another one."

x

* In 1685, Michael Shen Fu-Tsung, a Chinese mandarin and a convert to Christianity, visited England (as well as Holland, Italy, and France) and met King James II. Shen Fu-Tsung resided in Britain from 1685 to 1688. It was the first (recorded) time that a Chinese man visited England.

James II, _extremely_ pleased by this visit, had Shen Fu-Tsung's portrait painted. He then … hung the painting in his bedroom. (I honestly don't know if monarchs did that on a regular basis, but this amuses me so much. |D;)

Shen Fu-Tsung also went to Oxford and met Thomas Hyde.

* In 1672, the English East India Company finally secured a trading post in Taiwan. The company was soon engaged in direct and regular trade with the Chinese. They were also permitted to make regular voyages to Amoy, Chusan and Canton.

By the turn of the century, the company's base for the China trade was transferred from Taiwan to Canton. It was granted the privilege of monopoly of trade in the East Indies until 1833.

More on that next time. I just wanted you all to know that China and England are indirectly trading by this time.

* Um, the waltz. I know almost nothing about dances, guys, but I do know that the waltz most people think of when they hear the name didn't appear until … the late 1700s/early 1800s. The waltz that was popular in Austria around 1685 is different. Pre-waltz? It's … livelier. Truth is, I just wanted them to dance. In a close proximity. It wouldn't have happened during this century, though, haha. Not that close. :'D

* Sonnet #145 written by Shakespeare. It's like my Opium War sonnet. /geek


	4. Blooming

Title: Blooming

Characters: England, China.

Rating: PG

Summary: 1764 – England visits China, but personal reasons soon turn into business.

Notes: Um … rating for this fic will change soon. I think;;; If I can will myself to write porn;;; Ahaha;;; Also, sorry for the footnotes. There will be less next chapter. D':

Thank you for the favourites and reviews! Drop me a line if you want to see a specific year added to the fic! And thank you, Kaya, for helping with the Chinese!

Also, I finally named this story. Perennial has a couple of meanings (flowers go hand in hand with these two), and fixation is... well, a prettier way of saying _addiction_, which is what these two have for each other. Or rather, what England has for tea and what China eventually has for opium. Ooo, I'm so creative. Now, on to the fic!

x

_January, 1763_

_My dearest Yao:_

_By the time this letter finds you, I will be well on my way to China. There is no use replying. Not yet, at least. Save your words until we meet face to face. _

_It has been far too long since we last spoke, has it not? Your portrait can only quench my desires for so long, and your letters, while endearing, cannot carry conversation. I have come to the conclusion that to remain far from you is impossible for me._

_I know what you are thinking: He's still trying to court me. But Yao, I believe I have already succeeded, haven't I? I don't need to see you in person to know that your cheeks are rose-coloured, but don't feel embarrassed: You wooed me long before I wooed you. I assure you. And soon we will be reunited once again. …_

China laughed out loud, his cheeks red, just as England had predicted in the letter. He placed the letter on the table, not bothering to finish reading it. "Aiya," he breathed, a small smile painted on his face. Honestly, England was hopeless. _Enchantingly_ hopeless, but hopeless, nonetheless. China had been receiving letters from England ever since their goodbye in London. He was a little worried at first; the kiss was definitely not supposed to happen, but the letters soon became commonplace and the kiss was never mentioned. Before he knew it, China was writing back, enthusiastically answering every note that arrived, and eagerly awaiting the next.

He laughed at England's letter and decided not to answer. He knew England would keep his word. Sooner or later, China would see those familiar green eyes in person. "Zàijiàn, Arthur." _See you soon._

x

It was a whole year later that England finally set foot on China again. He took a deep breath, gazing at the busy people on the streets. He was late, but he hadn't intended to be _so_ late. War, both at home in Europe and across the Atlantic in the New World, had kept him away. He hadn't been fighting during the last year, but war had repercussions and England had duties.

Still, a smile formed on his lips. China had a calming effect on England, almost as if the country were a drug, soothing and hypnotizing.

"I was beginning to wonder if you would ever show up, Arthur."

The words caused an even bigger smile to form on England's face. He turned, his eyes meeting China's, and it was as if the entire world stopped around them. "You aren't going to tell me you've been waiting here all this time, are you?" He stepped a little closer to China, eyeing the clothes.

For once, China was not dressed in an elaborate gown. It was a simple outfit, white and gold, sleeves long, designs decorating the fabric. China was, somehow, as majestic as ever.

"I have not." China laughed, fighting an urge to question England about the act of courtship. Did all Englishmen talk that way? "It seems our lives are intertwined."

"Perhaps." England instinctively reached forward, fingers gently brushing through China's hair.

There was a hint of tiredness in England's eyes that China knew all too well. _War. _He frowned a little, allowing England's fingers to caress his cheek. China knew, of course. The traders in Macao were quick to talk about France's loss and England's victory. Whispers about America and Canada also spread. China cared nothing about the New World, but he couldn't help but ask about England.

He knew England was young and strong, but war would always tire a nation, no matter how experienced or skilled. That much was evident in England's tired emerald gaze.

"Let's get you inside, Arthur." China pulled away from the tender touch and turned, beginning to walk towards the buildings. "You should rest after your voyage."

"You've prepared a room for me? Are you sure you haven't been waiting for my arrival?" England teased, smirking at the way the other nation shook his head. He glanced back at the ship, knowing he'd have to go home soon, but he pushed those thoughts aside and decided to think only of the beauty walking beside him.

x

The sun warmed everything its rays kissed, bringing to life both the animate and inanimate. It was early, but villagers, merchants, and sailors had already begun to roam the streets of Canton. Noise filled the air, slowly awakening the entire city from the depths of slumber. By the time England woke up, China had already prepared breakfast and set up a table in the garden.

England brought the cup up to his lips. The tea flowed into his mouth, tasting bitterer than he last remembered. He sighed softly, placing the cup back down on the table, resuming his conversation with China. "But it's over now. I beat that bloody frog, and he deserved ever last beating he received, I hope you know."

China took a sip of his own tea, hiding a small frown behind the teacup. Gold eyes carefully watched as England's expression turned from happily triumphant to almost miserable. Something loomed over England's head, but China couldn't figure out what had happened since he last saw the other na—

"And here _you_ are, hiding away from the world in a perfect bubble." England didn't take notice of his words. His mind rambled; it was still feeling the effects of the war. But it wasn't just the war that was bothering him. England felt as if a rain cloud had sprouted over his head. It threatened to drown him, asphyxiate him. England was suffocating, and he knew it was only a matter of time before his hold on his precious prize—America—snapped into pieces.

"Not only that, but …" England picked the cup up and stared at the tea, "My people are obsessed with your tea. Yet, you're here, rich and powerful and completely oblivious to the world around you."

China frowned, England's voice fading into the background. He recognized the tone behind England's words—_envy. _Of course, that was it. China bitterly realized that England was resentful and jealous. _Weren't they all_? How many times had China's emperors warned him about foreigners?

His eyes left England's face, searching for an escape. He glanced at the bushes, watching the leaves dance in the wind, the flowers laugh under the sunlight. A small smiled appeared on his face as his eyes landed on the old blush. Sometimes he felt like a rose: beautiful and thorny. The world was in love with China, in love with tea and porcelain and silk. In the end, the only thing the world wanted was China's goods. They all smiled and played nice, as long as they could benefit from China's trade.

And so, like the rose, China decided he had to protect himself.

But he was tired of not trusting other nations. Weren't they all similar? Their people were different, but nations were the same, weren't they? They had all seen war and misery, prosperity and beauty. Before long, China had found himself wishing he could trust … wishing he could trust someone besides his family, someone like himself, someone like _Arthur_.

_A rose will wither if it is plucked, even if it is plucked by trusting hands_, China reminded himself. Yet, China couldn't erase the memory of the day he and England met and of those damned green eyes—

"Yao?"

China blinked, his cheeks flushed from embarrassment. "Aa, sorry. You were saying?"

England eyed China, his gaze softer than before. He frowned a little, worried but resolute. "I was wondering whether or not you could talk to your emperor about opening more ports or perhaps accepting a different method of pay—"

"The answer is and always will be no." China's eyes were distant, but determination shone in their depths. _All they want is your wealth._

"You haven't even given me a chance to—"

"I do not need to hear explanations, Arthur."

England crossed his arms and sat back. "Fine. Perhaps _you'd_ like to explain why Portugal receives far better treatment than me." He narrowed his eyes, his blood boiling, jealousy making his hands quiver.

"Portugal pays our govern—"

A scoff. "And how does _he_ pay _you_, Yao?"

China slammed his hands on the table, gold eyes brimming with venom. He couldn't trust _any_ of them. Foreigners were _all_ the same, no matter how charming or beautiful. "Bèndàn," he mumbled, throwing his chair back and walking away from the table. _Idiot._

England blinked, eyes glued to the back of China's head. Why had he said that? "You're an imbecile," he whispered to himself, a frown now painted on his face. A deep sigh escaped his lips. He hesitated, but then stood, following China, stopping before he got too close. Instead, England's stare floated to the flowers.

_Beautiful._ They reminded him of the roses back home, but they were even more graceful in China's presence. He watched as China reached out and touched a bud, fingers delicately caressing the petals. China was right; England was an idiot.

"What a beautiful rose," England finally said, moving forward, reaching out his hand to touch the same bud China's fingers were stroking. China didn't flinch; he barely blinked or breathed. Their fingers lightly brushed, and England continued, eyes turning to gaze at China, "I want to take the rose home with me."

China watched their fingers intertwine, a pink hue tainting his cheeks. He couldn't trust foreigners, no matter how charming.

But he made a mistake and looked up at England. Every time their eyes locked, his heart sped and time stopped: he wanted to trust Arthur.

China offered him a small smile, "There might be a way." His gaze once again found itself pinned to their still dancing fingers. "My emperor might agree to meet with one of your ambassadors." China knew that even if the emperor did agree to meet with anyone from England, chances of any kind of deal between the nations were slim.

China was, after all, the superior nation. His emperor would have nothing to do with foreigners and his people needed nothing other nations could offer.

Still, a meeting was worth a try. He glanced back at England and found the other nation smiling, almost on the verge of laughter. "We'll talk about this some other time. We should finish breakfast before it gets cold." England pulled his hand away and brought it up to China's cheek, softly brushing China's hair out of his face.

A smile formed on China's lips. "Don't forget to pick out a seedling and take it back with you."

"Oh?" England joked, "And how much will you charge me for _that_?"

"Aiya, am I that stingy to you?"

Silence. The leaves rustled in the wind. England chuckled. The morning seemed vibrant again.

"But you have to promise to show me the flowers next time I visit England," China added, walking towards the table to finish his tea.

"It's a promise, Yao."

x

* Remember the last chapter? I mentioned that by the turn of the century, England had begun to officially trade with China. Yeah … it wasn't exactly working out, not for England anyway.

The Chinese confined foreign trade to Canton, and they imposed rigid restrictions through the practice of Co-hong. The Hongs was a guild of Chinese merchants, and they were the only merchants licensed by the Chinese officials to deal with foreign traders. They were rich, but they were despised by the mandarin class. As a result, Hongs could not enjoy the full rights of profiting from the trade. They were required to pay a large sum of money to customs officers who, in turn, paid the government. In order to profit, the Hongs heavily taxed foreign traders. The limited trading ports and the inflated fees paid to the customs officer were the main grievances expressed by the Company traders.

Why was it especially bad for England? Between 1710 and 1759, the imbalance in trade between China and Britain was staggering. The trade drained Britain of silver, the only form of payment China accepted. Britain paid out 26 million pounds in silver to China, but sold only 9 million pounds in goods. China bought some raw goods from Britain, but tea was a bigger seller in Britain than anything England could offer China. By 1785, Britain was importing fifteen million pounds of tea per year from China. (In other words, England developed a terrible addiction to China. /shot) Seriously though, the English were obsessed with tea.

Furthermore, Britain had just defeated the French in the Seven Years' War (which included the French and Indian War.) By 1763, Britain had used a lot of money fighting to protect the British North American colonies. England expected a portion of the expenses for colonial defense to be paid by the American colonists so Britain taxed the colonists. The taxes were low compared to what the English were being taxed back home, but the American colonists weren't happy. I'm not going to explain the American War of Revolution, but you know, things got out of hand and boom! More money out the window!

* So, I was originally writing this fic for two adorable little ladies. One of those ladies asked me to incorporate the old blush into the fic. She got the idea from an artist by the name of Pocket. Anyway, the old blush arrived in Europe around the late 1750s/early 1760s (I think … don't quote me on that;;;) and it appeared in England around the 1760s. But, like I said, don't quote me on that. Every website has a different year, hahaha! I suggest you all read Pocket's strip though. It's pretty.


	5. Devotion

Title: Devotion

Characters: England, China. Mentions of America.

Rating: Adult

Summary: 1777 – The American Revolution looms over England, but maybe this was the chance China and England needed.

Notes: This is my fail attempt at porn. I won't be writing this kind of stuff often. It's just not good. x'D But guess what? Almost no footnotes! :P There will be more chapters like these, I promise. Early history requires more explanations, haha. Also, the England - America isn't meant to be taken romantically. Think brotherly or familial, yes? Unless, of course, you want to see it that way, in which case, feel free to squint and see hints of USUK.

x

The room was dark, illuminated only by the soft light of candles and the setting sun's last rays.

England sat on the edge of China's bed in a hunched over position, face buried in his hands. Every now and then his body would shudder, another choked sob painfully swallowed in an attempt to keep his anguish hidden.

Worried gold eyes traced England's silhouette. China stood a few metres in front of England, wearing a big frown on his face. England was the last person he had expected to see at Canton. He had heard the story: America declared war on England. Within months, rumours had flooded the docks at Canton: England won a handful of battles, America declared independence, France and Spain would join sides with America — the tales were endless, and the entire world was waiting for the outcome.

The entire world was waiting for Britain's defeat.

China had convinced himself that it would be years before he saw England again. After all, war was time-consuming. But then he had spotted England at the habour, and China swore it was just his eyes playing tricks on him, reminiscing and flashing him images of spirits.

Apparition or not, England looked terrible. That much had been apparent with one look at the younger nation. He looked smaller, drained, _broken_.

China had quickly invited England to stay with him and England had, just as quickly, agreed. Yet, since he arrived, the only thing England had done was to stare blankly at the floor. China fought the urge to reach out and hold him. He could care less about the war, but England's usual doting gaze and teasing smile had been replaced with vacant eyes and a giant frown. The emptiness _terrified_ China.

How could a powerful nation suffer so much?

Once he was in China's bedroom, England had finally let a tear stroll down his face. China's heart _ached_. England had taken his seat on China's bed and hid his face, hid the grief and the sorrow that threatened to engulf him, and all China could do was stand and watch as the other nation tore himself apart.

A strangled whisper filled the still air, "Th-that bloody brat. After all I've done for him."

China swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. His hands shook, tempted to reach out and cup England's cheeks, to sooth whatever pain the other nation might be suffering.

"After all the time and money," England continued, his shoulders shaking. China couldn't see them, but he felt the tears stream down England's face and onto his hands. He stepped closer, his eyes saddened, voice caught in the back of his throat. He wanted to shout at England. He wanted to tell him that everything would be okay and that he didn't have to cry alone.

Like a dagger through China's heart, "Yao, didn't I love him enough?"

Warm arms suddenly wrapped themselves around England's shoulders. When England attempted to look up, he found himself buried in China's arms, his face pressed firmly against China's chest. His body shook, tears still flowing from his eyes, but his arms found the strength to rise and, like a child, England wrapped his arms around China's waist and clung to the other nation.

"Of course you loved him enough, Arthur. I am sure he knows it." China lovingly squeezed England, fingers gently running through his hair, brushing the soft locks. "And I am sure he still loves you."

England closed his eyes, burying his face against China's chest, another sob shaking his body.

China looked down at him, the frown still painted on his face. He moved his hands and cupped England's cheeks, brushing the tears away, silently wishing England would open his eyes and look at _him_ and forget _America_.

Another tear rolled down England's face, pooling around China's thumb. Before China could think his actions through, he pressed his lips against England's. Green eyes flew open, surprise and disbelief sparkling in their depths, but the gentle breath against his lips caused his eyes to close. He pulled China down and onto the bed, climbing over the smaller nation, their lips still locked in a shy kiss.

When England pulled away, gold eyes tenderly looked up at him.

"I don't need your pity, Yao." Even as the words left his mouth, England found himself brushing China's hair out of his face.

"Who said this was pity, Arthur?" China frowned a little, reaching up to wrap his arms around England's neck. He pulled England down and their lips touched and melted together. England closed his eyes, moving his hands down China's slender body.

China unexpectedly remembered their dance. Like then, their bodies moved in perfect unison. Hands roamed, explored skin; lips and tongues teased and tasted; breathy gasps and moans filled the air. Clothes was slipped off, tossed aside in a frenzy.

"Arthur," China breathed as England's lips moved down his neck and England's hands rubbed the skin over his thighs. His own hands were busy running down England's back, gently scratching at the pale skin.

"Beautiful," England murmured against China's lips, the sweet taste of tea lingering on England's tongue. He tenderly brushed his fingers through China's long hair as the older nation wrapped his legs around England's waist and teasingly pressed their bodies together. England moaned, thighs shaking from the contact, from the sheer closeness.

A gentle, quick thrust. A gasp fluttered past China's lips. Instinctively, he reached for England's hair, burying his fingers in the thick locks, pulling him closer, crushing their lips together. England slowly pulled out, and a second later, he buried himself in China again. China's body shuddered beneath him, the heat surrounding England almost agonizing.

The room around them slowly dissolved. Nothing was left but the sound of their moans filling the space between their lips.

China's mouth and tongue kissed and licked every inch of exposed skin England offered him. He murmured foreign words—_declarations of love?_— against England's neck.

A tantalizing groan, "_Yao_." England smothered their lips together, and China gasped, his entire body trembling, fingernails digging into England's shoulders. His cheeks grew hotter, his insides burning, tingling from England's released. China faintly realised his chest, his heart —his _entire being_—burned. Warmth spread between their bodies, staining their skin with each other's scent.

Then England smiled, and China felt shivers run down his spine. He lovingly pressed his lips against China's temple, earning a faint giggle from the older nation.

Outside, the world was dark.

One by one, the candles slowly died, blanketing the two nations in darkness. China's fingers gingerly drew Chinese characters on England's chest. A smile remained on England's lips, his mind momentarily forgetting about America and the war.

x

The next time England opened his eyes, sunlight poured through the curtains. He looked down to see a still sleeping China sprawled atop his torso. He blinked, the brightness causing his eyes to water. A smile abruptly grew on England's lips. He reached for China's hair, fingers lightly brushing the dark strands.

China shifted and lazily peeked up at England, "It's too early, Arthur." He sounded almost childlike and England couldn't help but chuckle.

"Who said I was moving?" England wrapped his arms around China and pulled him closer, placing a small kiss against his forehead. "Good morning, sunshine."

"Aiya," China sighed, a blush colouring his face. He leaned closer to England and kissed his cheek, smiling, "Zǎo ān, Arthur."

x

* The American War of Independence (or the American Revolution) between the American colonists and Great Britain formally began on 1775 and lasted until 1783. (Tension had been building years before 1775.) Independence from Great Britain was declared on July 2, 1776. The Declaration of Independence was revised and approved on July 4, 1776. One of my sister's history books states that King George wrote "Nothing of importance happened today" in his July 4, 1776 diary entry. King George was never the same after losing the war. He was mega paranoid and super depressed.

This is my way of saying that, whether or not you ship USUK, the American War of Independence had a terrible impact on Great Britain. Imagine, the greatest empire at the time losing to a small band of colonies. King George _broke._

* I once read that "the entire world" was waiting for the outcome of this war. Europe was, of course, ready to celebrate England's defeat. I have no real clue as to what Asia thought about all this, though. I can only imagine China didn't care one way or another about the outcome.


	6. Endeavour

Title: Endeavour

Characters: England, China, Hong Kong.

Rating: PG

Summary: September 1793 – Meeting the Chinese emperor doesn't go quite as planned, but a hint of hope comes in the form of a child.

Notes: Yeah, you read that right. Hong Kong makes a debut. I plan to include other characters as I progress with this thing.

Speaking of progress, school starts on the 22nd. I probably won't write another chapter for … 3/4 months? Unless I'm **desperately** trying to escape reality and schoolwork, in which case, a chapter may get written. Fear not, that happens often! *bad student!* For now, however, please enjoy this chapter as it _may_ be the last until December. As always, thank you for reading, reviewing, and adding this story to your favourites! It means a lot!

x

A heavy sigh left England's lips. He was sitting on a chair, back straight, proud, firm. His eyes were narrowed, focused on the cup in his hand. No anger shone in his eyes; rather, an air of indifference radiated from the green orbs. They vaguely glared at the tea, blaming everything—every little wrong detail in the whole damned world—on the tea. Why couldn't he get rid of the addiction? He hadn't needed tea before, so why now? He swallowed the lump in his throat and set the cup down, his posture rigid and unwavering.

China sat in front of England, his body in a similar position. He held his head high, eyes fixed on the wall behind England. His body was rigid, and a gleam of distaste hung around him. Hadn't China warned England? He had told him time and time again that nothing would change his Emperor's mind. They needed nothing from foreigners; China had everything he needed and no European nation would ever take that away or be able to give him anything more.

He thought England understood. He thought England would forsake his previous attempts at negotiating and be happy with what he had.

China's eyes landed on the small jewelry box England had brought him. It was a gift from Great Britain, beautifully carved and magnificently polished. England chose it specifically for China, but China didn't need presents. He glared at the box, wishing England hadn't come at all.

England's sudden words were a stab in the stomach. "You failed to inform me that your emperor is nothing but an arrogant, pompous—"

"And you fail to mention that your ambassador is a haughty, pretentious fool."

"Pretentious? Ha, he was doing his job. Alas, my people are nothing but _tribute-bearers_." England directed his angry gaze at China. "What is it, Yao? Is it the power you claim to possess? The riches? What makes you better than me?" _Why don't you see me as your _equal_?_

"Arthur, I told you before, this meeting would not work."

"You are not answering me."

China sighed and glared at England, "I am not required to answer _you_, Arthur. You come to _my_ country and expect _my_ people to perform a silly—"

"Silly? And you expect me to believe the _kowtow_ isn't some form of snobbery? I don't appreciate being looked down upon, _Yao_." England's voice carried a hint of venom, but his eyes revealed only slight agitation.

"You are nothing but an overconfident child, Arthur."

England slammed his hands on the table, knocking over the teacup. He stood up, voice shaking, words _piercing_, "And you, my _dear_ Yao, are a naïve dolt!"

China stood, his own eyes firing daggers at the nation in front of him. "Who are _you_ to call _me_ naïve?" He resisted the urge to shove England out of the room. None of this was supposed to happen, but foreigners knew nothing about him, about his people, and about his beliefs. Who did they think they were? What right did they believe they possessed, to come into _his_ home and disrespect _him_?

"If you don't change that attitude, Yao, you _will_ get hurt."

Gold eyes widened, a split second of surprise crossing his features. His hands trembled. Was that a threat? A promise? A warning? "Am I suppose to believe you will save me? Protect me? Arthur, the naïve one here is _you_."

A laugh erupted from England's throat. England shook his head and the next thing China knew, England was bowing, kneeling, forehead on the floor in front of China's feet. His voice was low, masked by his hunched form, but it was as firm as ever. "Is this what you want? You want me to bow down before you, right Yao? You want to have all the control in the world."

"That is not it at all," China began, but his words were cut off by another laugh.

"I'll never be your equal, will I?" England looked up at China. His green eyes were devoid of anger. They were clear, like gems, almost sincere.

"Arthur, stand. The kowtow is to be performed in front of the Emperor, not me." China reached down, his fingers shaking from a nameless feeling.

"Must you always avoid my questions, Yao?" England diverted his gaze when China's fingers lightly brushed his hair. In an instant, England was standing. China didn't have time to register England's next movement, and by the time his senses caught up, China was in England's arms.

England pulled him closer, an arm securely wrapping itself around China's waist. Their lips joined in an awkward kiss, and China felt his anger subside. England's lips were becoming an addiction that China desperately needed to escape from, but he couldn't. No matter how angry or hurt, the minute their lips touched, China felt everything dissolve. England slowly licked China's bottom lip, and there wasn't a thing China could do but return the kiss.

That is, until a small, surprised voice echoed through the otherwise silent room. "Gē gē, nǐ méishì ba?" _Big brother, are you okay?_

China blinked and pulled away from England's arms. He turned around and stared at the doorway. "Aiya, dì dì."

"_Little_ _brother_," England half-questioned, half-mumbled to himself, and watched as China walked to the doorway and picked up the small child. He cradled the tiny boy in his arms and spoke to him in Chinese.

"_I am okay, dì dì."_

"_He was hurting you …"_

China glanced at England, a blush forming on his cheeks. "_He wasn't hurting me_," he whispered to Hong Kong, smiling. "_Who let you into this hall?_"

England curiously watched as China spoke to Hong Kong. The boy's size reminded him of how tiny America had once been. A faint smile appeared on his lips. America and Hong Kong were polar opposites, though; that much England could see with one glance at Hong Kong. His hair was dark, unkempt, and his eyes were gold, albeit not as bright as China's. He held a small doll—_is that a panda?_— in his arms and stared at England with a vacant expression. Still, the boy was cute, and England unconsciously smiled more.

"_Emperor wants to see you_," Hong Kong whispered into China's ear.

"_Aa, I will go see him_," China answered, leaning forward a placing his forehead against Hong Kong's. "_Don't worry about him_," he quickly flicked his gaze towards England, and then stared back at Hong Kong. "_He wasn't hurting me_."

Hong Kong nodded and buried his face in China's shoulder, causing China to giggle softly. "Arthur, please watch over Hong Kong. There is something I must attend to."

Before England had a chance to answer, he found himself holding a small child.

"I trust you will make sure he does not run away before I come back," China added, smiling, gently running his fingers through Hong Kong's dark locks.

"W-wait, I haven't taken care of—"

China looked up and their eyes met. Anger, resentment, despair: the emotions that had been there before were gone. For a moment, it was as if nothing terrible had happened between them.

"I will be right back."

England nodded and watched China's form disappear behind the doors. He waited a minute before taking a deep breath and looking at the small boy in his arms. "Is that a panda?"

Hong Kong hugged his doll tighter, his big eyes blank.

_He probably thinks I'm a big, old pervert._ England sighed a little, but smiled at the child. He lifted him in the air and laughed, "You don't understand a word I'm saying, do you? How about we make a deal? I'll teach you how to fly and you let me see your panda, hm?"

Hong Kong scrunched his eyebrows, confusion shining in his eyes_. _The next minute, he was in the air.

England laughed, caught the boy, and then tossed him back in the air. "Look how high you can fly," he said with a chuckle, forgetting everything but the boy in his hands. He smiled wide and repeated the movements, catching and tossing Hong Kong until the boy finally laughed.

After a few more tosses, England sat down on a chair and placed Hong Kong on his lap. He mindlessly ran his fingers through the child's hair and smiled, almost as if reminiscing. "You're quite adorable, despite that look you're giving me," he mumbled, patting Hong Kong's head.

"Are you going to take gē gē?"

England blinked. _English? _So the boy understood everything he had said? A sad smile replaced the look of surprise, "No one is taking anyone anywhere. China and I were talking. That's all."

Hong Kong frowned and motioned for England to get closer. England blinked, but leaned down, the soft words causing his body to freeze, "Do not hurt gē gē. He likes you …"

It took all of England's strength not to laugh at himself. His chest—_heart_— hurt, but his stomach fluttered with relief.

"You have my word," he promised Hong Kong. Then he smiled a smile laced with sadness and joy, "I like him, too."

Hong Kong nodded and held out his precious stuffed animal to England. England happily took the doll and proceeded to make the animal swoop down and tickle Hong Kong.

China could hear the laughter from where he stood outside the room. A blush had kissed his cheeks at England's words: _I like him, too._

But China's hands trembled. He couldn't ignore the look he had seen in England's eyes earlier that day. They had promised him pain and anguish. Yet, the words he said to Hong Kong were gentle, and his shy and quiet little brother had seemingly warmed up to England in the few minutes China had been away.

_I like him, too._

A sigh. China peeked into the room and smiled at the precious picture inside: England and Hong Kong laughing and playing. His eyes caught the jewelry box in the background and he frowned, but in that instant he decided to ignore England's gaze from earlier.

Perhaps England had been upset over what had happened between his ambassador and China's emperor. In any case, the joyous laughter from inside the room made China smile. And Hong Kong was right; China couldn't deny his feelings for England.

There was no way England would hurt him. He had promised Hong Kong, and China was determined to trust in England's word.

China desperately wanted to believe in the man who made him smile.

x

* These two countries could have avoided horrible relations and possibly the Opium Wars had their people not been so arrogant. Sigh! Here comes another long collection of footnotes.

Did you know that, at first, the British East India Company tried to prevent British importation of opium into China? They did not want it to interfere with their legitimate trade. Warren Hastings, the Company governor of Bengal, halted exports of opium from India to China. Initially, he had a "zero tolerance" for importing opium to China.

China only accepted Spanish silver dollars. England's supply of Spanish dollars had dried up during the American Revolution, and England had no alternative to pay for the ridiculously popular drink. In 1782, England attempted to trade opium in China. It ended in disaster. Two ships set sail with opium. One was captured, the other forced to leave Macao and dump their cargo since the Chinese did not want to buy opium. Ten years later, England would be importing four thousand chests per annum into China.

* In 1793, Lord George Macartney sailed to China. He was something like an ambassador. His purpose: establish a British embassy in the capital of China and get permission for British ships to dock at ports besides Canton. He also had instructions to end the importation of opium from British-controlled India. Opium was illegal in China, but the trade was difficult to stop because there were enthusiastic customers (that weren't there 10 years prior.)

Now, keep in mind that China had always felt superior to the rest of the world (and not without reason, mind you.) China called itself the "Middle Kingdom" not to describe its geographical location, but because of the Chinese belief that the nation was the land around which all humanity was centered. Thus, the emperor did not receive ambassadors, since that would suggest equal rank among the nations. Visitors to the court were called "tribute bearers" and "barbarians." In short, foreigners did not come to negotiate; they came as subjects paying homage. "Barbarian" wasn't an offensive term, by the way; _all_ foreigners received that designation. It was, however, condescending.

To keep this short, here's a list of the … epic fail:

The boat Macartney travelled on when he was heading to Beijing had a huge sign (written in Chinese) that read: "tribute from the red barbarians."

The gifts he brought were looked down upon. He probably thought he was bringing gifts from one sovereign nation to another, but they were, in fact, "tribute." The gifts ended up in the Summer Palace, forgotten until… well, I won't spoil. Irony is _**cruel**_.

Emperor Qianlong would meet Macartney not in his palace, but in a tent outside the Imperial Hunting Lodge. An audience in the Winter Palace would have represented a meeting between equals.

The real deal-breaker: _kowtow_. The ritual consisted of bowing, then kneeling, and then placing the supplicant's forehead on the floor nine times. For the sake of the mission and millions in trade, Macartney was willing to kowtow, _but_ as the ambassador of the proudest and most powerful nation on Earth, Macartney demanded the same obeisance to his master by the Emperor's mandarin courtiers. Since George III couldn't be there in person, a life-sized portrait of the King was brought along. Macartney would kowtow to the Emperor, but the Imperial Court had to do the same to an _oil painting_.

* Lord Macartney travelled with a lot of people. The most important was a twelve-year-old boy named George. He was a prodigy who spoke Mandarin and would later play a pivotal role in _worsening_ the relations between China and England. The boy did, however, "save" the day. The Emperor was told that the youth had learned to read and write Chinese during his long boat trip to China. He spoke a few words to the boy and when the boy replied in Chinese, the Emperor was delighted. He rewarded George with a yellow silk purse.

The adults and their mission were another matter. The mandarins refused to bow, and Macartney refused to kowtow. In the end, Macartney left empty-handed. The opium trade was never even brought up for discussion. *enter facepalm here*

* … Not pertinent, but a couple of years later, a Dutch ambassador travelled to Beijing and met the Emperor. Unlike Macartney, this man preformed the kowtow and all was awesome. I'm telling ya, that pride did ya in, boys.


	7. Deception

Title: Deception

Characters: England, China.

Rating: PG

Summary: 1799-1810 – China's not blind, but his people are already addicted.

Notes: Oops, this came way later than expected. I died last semester, and I'm bound to die again this semester, so another update won't occur until late-May/early-June… sorry! I hope you all enjoy the new chapter, and thanks again for reviewing! I love hearing your comments. Also, if you haven't already, go see the Christmas event: Himaruya drew the tea family! Buhyoo~ So precious! XD

x

Seven years. It had been seven years since England had last received a letter from China. After his departure in 1793, England had written a letter to the other nation. It was short and simply asked China to forgive England for his conduct during the failed audience with the Chinese emperor. Several months later, a reply arrived. China's letter was formal and arrogant; still, a hint of tenderness laced his words.

For a while, England would write a letter, and a response would come soon after. The letters, both England's and China's, were playful yet reserved. That's how it was for several years, and England wouldn't have traded that intimacy for all the tea in China.

But suddenly, the letters stopped arriving. At first, England thought his own letter had been lost. It wasn't uncommon for a letter travelling overseas to disappear. When he didn't receive a letter back—it had been eight months, surely his letter was lost!—England wrote another one.

A reply never came.

That is, until 1804. England had arrived home and gone directly to his office. It wasn't unusual for his desk to have letters upon letters waiting for him, but the familiar writing on one envelope in particular caught England's eye.

He blinked in disbelief, dropped the books he was carrying onto the floor, and reached for the letter, quickly pulling it out of its envelope.

_Dearest Arthur,_

A smile appeared on England's lips.

_I apologize for the delay. I never expected to take this long to answer you, but there are issues here to which I must attend. You understand, don't you? I hope you find yourself well, Arthur. It's been far too long since we've last seen each other._

_I wish I could say _I_ am doing well, but my nation has been plagued. _

The smile on England's lips slowly faded as he continued to read.

_Have you heard of it? Opium, I mean. Your company from India has been smuggling the drug into my country. Surely you must know how it is affecting my people. But everything is about money, isn't it, Arthur?_

His hands shook. His stomach clenched.

_In the end, you found a way to make more money than me. That is what you wanted from the start, isn't it? You were underhanded, but stupid to think I wouldn't notice. This corruption will be stopped. I will put an end to your company's dishonesty. _

He couldn't continue reading. His chest ached and breathing hurt, as if the air in his lungs had turned into water and broken the dams protecting his heart.

x

The last thing China expected was a quick response from England. China had been infuriated when he finally replied to the younger nation—he had honestly meant to answer England's letter as soon as he received it, but then rumours of opium coming from the British East India Company started to reach his ears, and he had bitterly torn England's letter and left it aside, forgotten. He had felt betrayed, stupid, used, deceived. His chest and head hurt. It was as if his world had suddenly lost all colours, and the words that eventually spilled onto the page were harsh and unforgiving. A response was surely the last thing China expected to receive.

But there it was; an envelope with neat and pristine writing waited for China.

China's fingers shook as he reached out and grabbed the letter. There was no mistaking England's handwriting.

_My dearest Yao,_

_I am sorry to hear about your present condition. However, I assure you that I haven't the slightest idea of what is currently going on in your country. As you know, issues here at home are my priority, but I will investigate the matter and come to my own conclusions._

For a second, China closed his eyes and imagined England's voice—reassuring and sincere—murmuring an apology against his ear. Where was rage that had been there months before?

_I must say, though, that it pains me to know that your people are stupidly using the drug. You should punish them. They're the ones buying the drug, Yao. You should see to it that the madness is stopped before it gets out of control. The merchants are only selling opium because the number of buyers must be high. Otherwise, they would sell their opium elsewhere._

Aa, there it was. China could feel the anger and resentment boiling in his veins again and clenched his teeth in response. He should punish _his _people? A laugh. England was too stubborn for his own good, and China knew that would be his demise. Yet, he found himself torn—if there was no getting through to England, why was he trying so hard?

x

Green eyes carefully scrutinized the words on the page.

_Arthur,_

_And what do you propose I do with your company? I am more than aware that I must punish my people, but _your_ merchants are the ones breaking _my_ laws. As you know, opium is illegal in my country. Yet, your merchants continue to sell the drug without any concern for my people or any respect for my laws._

Nausea. England's stomach quivered. He was confused and angry and—

_Arthur, if this does not stop, I will strip you of your trading privileges. Do _not _test me or my people, and do not anger me any further._

Did China not know how much England cared for him?

x

_Dearest Yao,_

China reminded himself to breathe.

_I did not mean to offend you. _

Polite and gentle and beautiful and—

_I was simply stating the facts—without buyers, no one would be selling opium. The reason the British East India Company found business in China is that your_ _people are eagerly buying the drug._

Hard-headed and arrogant and childish and—

_I was not implying that the merchants shouldn't be punished, but can you blame them for taking advantage of such a prosperous market? _

Absolutely stupid.

In the end, the bad outweighed the good.

x

The letter was concise and curt.

_England,_

_Are you not understanding what I am saying? _

Of course he understood what China was saying.

_I _will _stop you and your illegal opium trade for good. Mark my words._

He wasn't an idiot. He knew exactly what every word meant. Green eyes blankly stared at his name, delicately written with dark ink. The gentle curves of the letters contained venom and hate, and the rest of the words were laced with delicate fury.

What hurt the most was the greeting, for it wasn't _his _name that opened the letter but rather the name of his nation.

A loud, high-pitched laugh broke the silent air. Was that _his_ voice? His throat was dry, and the next choked half-sob, half-laugh tore his insides. His fingers shook, while his entire being _ached_. England was almost compelled to write an apology to China. He knew he was out of line, but …

He closed his eyes and crumpled the letter. Another laugh escaped his lips, though this time, he recognised his voice. He had laughed this lonely, livid laugh many times before. Yes, England was out of line, but he was still an empire, and empires didn't apologise.

x

* This footnote is actually related to the last chapter, but I forgot to mention it. HOWEVER, this chapter was a bunch of letters, so it fits. *excuses*

In 1793, Emperor Qian Long sent a letter to George III. Basically, it explained that China didn't need "strange and costly objects" from any other nation. China was rich with money and resources, and the Emperor had everything he could ever want. The Emperor also explained why the requests made by the British ambassador were declined.

I've always been intrigued as to why the Emperor would take his time to write a letter to explain these things to King George III. He didn't have to explain anything to anyone, yet he wrote King George III a letter. Does anyone know if he did this with other leaders?

* In 1799, the Chinese government re-established bans on the opium trade. In 1810, the government expressed its alarm at the opium invasion with a decree that condemned the trade. The decree reminded citizens that the drug was illegal and that it was harmful and demoralizing. Sadly, the decree had little effect. Between 1806 and 1809, China paid out seven million Spanish dollars for opium. The drug was beginning to reverse the imbalance of trade between England and China, and it would only get worse.

I will write the actual Opium Wars one day. OTL Holidays, please come soon!

By the way, the British actually used the whole "the people are the ones to blame—they're the ones buying the opium and smoking it!" argument. Uh-huh, sure—because the merchants were obviously not doing anything wrong by selling illegal drugs.

* This is my own headcanon, but I don't think Arthur knew much about what was going on in regard to opium during this time. Many of England's citizens had no idea this drug-smuggling was occurring until way later. Plus, Arthur had to deal with his king, who was more or less going mad, and wars closer to home. Nope. I don't believe Arthur was aware or even concerned with those matters at the time. Carry on!


	8. Falseness

Title: Falseness

Characters: England, China, Hong Kong.

Rating: PG

Summary: 1816 – England's second attempt at establishing an embassy in China.

Notes: If at first you don't succeed, try again! Actually, it would have been better if England _hadn't _tried again, but we all know how stubborn he is. Ahem. My internet was down, so I couldn't do homework. Haha, that's my excuse for writing this tragedy. Also, I'm pretty sure the next chapter will be the start of the First Opium War. My heart is already hurting. I'm not sure when I'll write it though. I never know when my internet is going to die. =3=

Thanks again for the reviews, likes, and subscriptions! And thank you to my dear China for helping me with the Chinese! :3

x

Sunshine flooded into the room. Bright colours adorned the walls and the bed. Hot tea steamed in two teacups. Bird happily sang outside. The mood should have been one of happiness; instead, the pleasant scenery was a sharp contrast to the two nations who sat at the table. They were anything but lively or cheerful, but each had his reason.

England sat on one chair. His legs were crossed, and an elbow rested on the table. He wore an unhappy expression and barely touched his tea. In fact, he _couldn't_ touch it; tea, his source of pleasure, was also his source of misery. The damned drink had caused him more pain than delight. He wasn't even sure why he still yearned for it. Yet his resentment had not stopped him from trying to save face. Once again, the proud Englishman had thought his people would be seen as equals in China's court. How terribly wrong he was! Now, he could only glare at the tea, the cause of his discontent.

China sat in front of the brooding blond. He was, as always, the perfect picture of pride and honour. His back was straight, and his hands gently held the teacup against his lips. Gold eyes gingerly watched the younger nation. He knew exactly what England was thinking, had seen that look on his face before, so there was no surprise when England's angry eyes finally met his.

"Are you really leaving tomorrow?"

"There is no reason for me to stay in China, is there?"

A soft laugh, "So you came all this way for nothing?" China had better things to do than sit around and entertain other nations.

"It seems that way, doesn't it?" England shifted in his seat and sat up straight. He casually rested his forearms on the table and linked his fingers together, green eyes shinning in the light. They were the eyes of a powerful nation, a proud man, one that wasn't playing games. "Tell me, do you treat everyone this way, or am I the only nation subjected to these ridiculous games?"

Not again. "It is _your _official who does not want to kowtow, Arthur."

Ah, there is was. His name rolled off China's tongue with such delicacy. England could feel his stomach tighten, and he caught himself staring at China's lips. "We've done this before," he began, finally picking up his teacup and taking a sip of the vile drink. "We should be past this pettiness."

China set down his cup and frowned. Yes, they had done the same exact thing before. China remembered it clearly. He also remembered the England from that time—proper, sincere, apologetic. The man had even brought China a small gift. But this time, there were no gifts or fancy words. There were no apologies or earnest stares. All China could see was fury, arrogance, _greed_.

"Enough chatter, Arthur. You are here for money, but you will not get any more. You will, however, stop the import of opium."

A chuckle. "Is that a request or a demand? Surely we can negotiate these thi—"

China slammed his fists on the table, gold eyes angrily glaring at England. But it wasn't the _real_ England. It was someone else. An impostor. A trickster. The nation who so kindly held him and whispered amorous promises was not the same man as the one who sat before him now. "There will be _no_ negotiations. Opium is illegal."

England swallowed the lump in his throat. He had more than expected an outburst from the other nation—probably even desired it—but it was the first time he took note of just how tired China appeared. China's youthful face couldn't hide the weary, exhausted gaze. Those gold eyes—once beautiful and brimming with emotion—were tired, worn. What England wouldn't pay to cup those cheeks and press his lips against China's eyelids!

"I cannot do anything without some kind of trade, Yao. You, of all people, should know better than that."

"Húndàn." _Bastard. _

China had had enough. He stood, chair falling to the floor, and grabbed England by the collar. He pulled until the other man was standing, the table caught between them. "How _dare_ you ridicule me, Arthur?"

England smirked. His head was spinning. It was getting harder to breathe. "I've done nothing of the so—"

"Liar," China spat. His eyes narrowed, and his mouth opened, but the words faltered when he felt a gentle tug at his waist.

"Gē gē, nǐmen liǎng gè zài chǎojià ma?"_Gē gē__, are the two of you fighting?_ Hong Kong worriedly eyed the men and pouted. His next move was to grab England's coat, but before he could reach it, he was swooped into China's arms and taken to the opposite side of the room.

"_We are not fighting. We were having a little disagreement, but it is okay now." _Yao cheerfully smiled and ran his fingers through Hong Kong's long, messy hair, attempting to reassure the boy.

Hong Kong didn't have a reason to distrust China; he simply nodded and shyly looked at England.

"What Yao says is true," England added. His Chinese wasn't perfect, but he had gotten somewhat better during the years, and he had enough common sense to read the situation. That didn't mean he would answer in Chinese though. "We were having a little quarrel, nothing more." He stepped forward and lightly patted the boy's head. Then, almost excitedly, he walked to his luggage.

"I almost forgot. I made something for you." England dug through his bag until his fingers wrapped around a wooden toy. He smiled. It was genuine and caring, and it made China hate him more. The smile seemed to only grow as he handed a small train to Hong Kong. "It's a locomotive. They're bigger in real life," he explained, waiting for Hong Kong's reaction to the toy. "They've become quite popular in Britain."

The boy curiously eyed the toy and smiled a second later. He didn't care for specifics. His only interests were the shiny layer of paint and the fact that he now had a new toy to throw at his siblings. "Thank you, Arthur," he mumbled, blushing happily and wiggling out of China's arms.

China would have told England that Hong Kong didn't need toys from Britain, but the boy genuinely liked it. His enthusiasm was more than apparent. With a soft sigh, China patted Hong Kong's head, "_D__ì dì, go play. I will come find you later."_

Hong Kong eyed both adults, but he didn't leave; instead, he shyly motioned for England to bend down.

It was an odd request, but England lowered himself to Hong Kong's level. The soft words shattered his world. "You promised, Arthur."

Without another word, Hong Kong sprinted out the room, swinging the toy in the air.

The silence stretched. England stood. He bit the inside of his cheek and glanced at China. _You promised, Arthur. _To think, three words from a child had left him, the most powerful nation in the world, speechless. He had _promised_. What a pathetic man he had become.

China waited until Hong Kong's footsteps faded entirely before turning to face the other nation. He didn't _hear_ what Hong Kong said, but he _knew_, and his entire being _hurt_. He felt betrayed and angry and tired. He wanted to hate England. He wanted to scream at him. He wanted to kick him out of his country and never see him again. He wanted to hurt him, to make him feel the same pain China had felt.

He wanted to see the old England again. The one with the silly smile who brought strange gifts and uttered odd promises. The one who would gently kiss him and take away his breath.

He took a step closer, eyes entranced by the floor. "Arthur … please, stop the opium trade."

There was a hint of defeat in China's words, and that was enough to make England's heart shatter. He reminded himself to breathe, reminded himself that he was the strongest nation and that he should not be crumbling, not be on the verge of taking China in his arms and asking—_begging_—for forgiveness. He lifted his hand and gently touched China's cheek. When he met no resistance, England leaned down and kissed him. It was an apologetic kiss, but England was not apologising for what had already occurred. No; this kiss was a warning laced with regret and adoration, for England knew the next time they met, he would have to swallow his feelings and destroy his precious Yao.

x

* During the first two decades of the nineteenth century, opium addiction in China grew slowly. The East India Company kept the price high, which meant that only upper classes could afford it. Plus, the East India Company didn't want to antagonize the Chinese government (opium was still illegal!); keeping the price high and importing only five thousand chests neatly balanced trade between England and China without bankrupting the Chinese treasury or angering the government further.

* Life is all about money, kids. It's a sad truth. I won't get into specifics (mostly because I'm not an economy major and numbers make my brain cry), but sometime around 1810-15, opium flooded into China. The trade, however, remained at Canton, but the British wanted more ports open to its merchants. That's why in 1816, there was another embassy.

* Lord Amherst travelled to China in 1816. He encountered a China that was completely different from the China Lord Macartney encountered. Emperor Qianlong had retired, and his fifth son and successor, Jiaqing, ruled. During this time, uprisings and revolts were a common thing, and pirates controlled the coast of China. Sadly, China was somewhat of a wreck.

Travelling with Lord Amherst was Sir George Staunton. Remember him? He was the boy who spoke Chinese to the emperor during the first embassy. He was familiar with the Chinese language and culture, so he knew all about the kowtow and what it meant. He advised Lord Amherst not to perform the kowtow since that would establish him as a tribute bearer. Amherst's other advisers told him to kowtow, but Amherst expected equality between the two nations, so he listened to Staunton's advice. Amherst was rightfully proud though. England was, at this time, the world's greatest superpower. Remember, the country had just defeated Napoleon!

* Random bit of information is random. Apparently, mandarin courtiers thought up a plan that they hoped would satisfy both parties. They tried to have Amherst kowtow to the Emperor's empty chair. Amherst agreed to bow and genuflect, but he refused to put his face on the floor, and there here was definitely no way he was doing that _nine_ times. In the end, Amherst left China without even seeing the Emperor. Almost two decades would pass before England sent another official to China, and in the intervening years, relations between British merchants in China and the Chinese government would worsen.


End file.
